


What We're Made Of

by miss_grey



Series: What We Do In The Dark [23]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Consent Issues, Derogatory Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Werewolves, not sexual, protective bill guarnere, protective eugene roe, protective joe toye, witch gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: The Philly Pack asssesses their new enemy.  Meanwhile, down in the Bayou, Gene does what he always does.





	What We're Made Of

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy :)

 

 

The sky was a mix of pink and gold, pressing back against the deeper blues and greens of the night, as the sun peeked over the horizon.  The air was still cool, for a moment, and leaves dipped, heavy with the night’s dew.  Gene’s shoes squelched in the mud and a mosquito buzzed in his ear as he traced his way along the invisible ward-line at the edge of the parish, his fingers lightly tingling where they came in contact with the magic.  _Good._ That anchor was still stable, too, then.  Gene cast his gaze through the endless tangle of trees and vines.  He had a long way to go before he could afford to stop.  Gene wiped a hand across his brow and walked on to the next one.

 

* * *

 

 

“He hasn’t left the building at all today,” Julian whined, peeking through the blinds in the bar’s front windows.  “I don’t understand how this guy can be some big bad hunter when he never _does_ anything.”

“Shut it, Julian,” Babe growled.  “Don’t you know by now that people ain’t always what they seem?”

Julian continued to grumble under his breath, but Babe’s eyes were sharp.  It was true that Sobel hadn’t left his store all day, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t _doing_ anything.  After all, they couldn’t see inside.  “So what are we supposed to do, then?  Just sit around and wait?”

Babe huffed a breath and glanced over at the teenager.  “Yeah, Julian.  That’s what Bill and Joe asked us to do, so for now, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Julian rolled his eyes.  “So boring,” he grumbled.

Babe took a deep breath, counted to ten, then glanced back out the window and across the street at the bookstore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Joe wiped the bar down for the second time in twenty minutes and scowled across the expanse of the bar.  “Hey, Bill,” he asked, voice gruff, “is it just me, or is this place mysteriously slow tonight?”

Bill frowned back at his friend.  “It ain’t just you, Joe.  Normally we’ve got three times as many people as this on a Thursday night.”

“I wonder why no one’s around?”

“I dunno.”  Bill shrugged, pool stick perched on his shoulder like a rifle. 

Malarkey peeked his head out of the kitchen door.  “You don’t think it has anything to do with that Sobel guy, do you?”

Joe frowned.  “How so?”

Malarkey shrugged.  “I dunno.  Just… maybe he’s been spreading rumors or something.”

“That son of a bitch better not be,” Bill growled.  “He needs to mind his own fucking business.  We’ve been here a hell of a lot longer than him.”

“Right,” Joe said.  “My grandfather built this place, and he was a wolf, too.”

“The Toyes and the Guarneres have run this neighborhood for decades.  No hunter is gonna change that.”

“Right.”  Malarkey nodded, eyes still nervous.  “Of course.  I just wonder, ya know.”

“Maybe it’s just a slow night.”  Penkala suggested from across the pool table.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed.  “Maybe.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gene startled awake, the pounding on his front door propelling him out of bed in a tangle of sheets.  He ran a hand through his hair, down his face, pushed exhaustion aside.  He could feel the desperation pour through the door before he ever reached it.  Rolling his shoulders, Gene reached for the door and pulled it open.  Outside, wide-eyed, stood the Lerouxs, a couple around Gene’s age—the husband, a big, broad man, had his fist raised to pound on Gene’s door once more, but dropped it, taking a step back at Gene’s appearance.  Beside him, Mrs. Leroux clutched her swollen belly and whimpered, casting scared, glazed eyes up at Gene.  He assessed them for just a second before he took a step back and murmured, “Come in.”  They came in warily, and Gene could feel the fear and anxiety rolling off of them.  That wouldn’t do.  Gene motioned for the woman to take a seat on the couch and he took a step back so that he could address the both of them.  “Tell me what happened.”

Mrs. Leroux opened her mouth to speak, but only another soft whine came out, so he directed his attention to Mr. Leroux, who stood stiffly, eyes scared, frustrated.  He looked like he was ready to fight someone.  “Baby’s not due for another two months, but she keeps having contractions.”  His voice shook, and his hands were still balled into fists.  “We went to the clinic and they did what they could, but they couldn’t see a reason for why it keeps happening.  The baby…the baby can’t come yet.”  The man swallowed heavily and his blue-grey eyes met Gene’s.  “We’ve heard… well.  We’ve heard that you might be able to help.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills.  “We can pay.”

Gene frowned, but allowed a wave of calm to wash over him.  He shook his head.  “Keep yo’ money.  I’ll do what I can.”  The man frowned, confusion swirling around him, but he put his hand back in his pocket.  “With your permission?”  The man nodded.

Gene turned toward Mrs. Leroux, who gazed up at him with wet eyes, her arms still wrapped protectively around her middle.  “May I?”  Gene asked.  She bit her lip and nodded.  Gene sank to his knees in front of her and inched closer until she had to make room for him.  He reached steady hands out and she moved hers aside so that he could lay his on her belly.  He closed his eyes.  _And he felt it.  The hurt.  The fear.  Two heart-beats, too fast._ He frowned and stretched his senses further.  “Your baby is okay,” he murmured, and the two parents gasped in relief—the tension in the room eased just a bit.  “I can feel the problem.”  Gene said.  He glanced up and Mrs. Leroux was staring down at him, breath held.  “I don’t know what it is—I’m not that kind of doctor.  But I think I can help.”  She nodded.  “Alright.”  Gene bent his head, closed his eyes, and smoothed his hands along the width of Mrs. Leroux’s belly again, fingers spreading, cradling. 

And then Gene started to pray.  He said the prayers that his grandmother had taught him, the ones his mother had taught him.  Steady, calm.  He felt warmth in his hands, felt power move like a slow-rolling wave up through his body and through his hands, into Mrs. Leroux.  Her muscles relaxed.  He kept up the prayer, murmuring in his native French, words much older than Gene or even his family.  Healing words.  He asked God to take mercy on this woman and her child, asked God to reach down his light and heal her.  He felt it move through his own body, radiant and warm. 

Gene didn’t know how long he knelt there praying, but eventually, Mrs. Leroux sighed and nearly went limp.  Gene sat back on his heels, tired and almost dizzy, now.  Mrs. Leroux wore a look of peace and her tears had dried.  Her eyes were full of awe.  “What is it?  What happened?”  Her husband demanded, moving forward.

“The contractions stopped,” Mrs. Leroux murmured.  “I can…I can feel the baby.  He’s still moving.”

Gene leaned back then rose shakily to his feet.  “Everything should be fine, now.”  Gene assured.  “Your baby should come full term.”

Mr. Leroux moved forward cautiously and helped his wife to her feet.  He held her elbow and wrapped an arm around her back.  He gazed down at her for a tense, unbelieving moment, eyes assessing, then he turned to Gene, offering a slightly-shaky hand.  Gene, unsteady himself, reached out and clasped hands with the grateful father.  “Thank you,” the man said.  “You just saved my baby, and maybe even my wife.”

Gene dipped his head in acknowledgement of the gratitude.  “You’re welcome.”  He studied Mrs. Leroux again for a moment, then: “You should get her home now, and tuck her into bed.  That was a lot a’ healin’, and she’s gonna be tired for a day or two.  I’d suggest hearty soups and maybe some fruit juice.”  Gene smiled for her.  “You’ll be alright.  And so will your baby.”

She nodded, lip trembling.  She reached out her own hands and gripped Gene’s tightly.  He could feel her desperation turn to gratitude, relief, and it soothed something inside him too.  “Thank you, Doc.  Thank you.”

Gene dipped his head once more and then the couple took their leave, Mr. Leroux helping his wife down the steps of Gene’s front porch and up into the passenger seat of their pickup.  After the dust from their tires had settled, Gene shut the door and allowed himself to slump back against it for a moment, before hauling himself as far as the couch before he collapsed, face first, into a pile of blankets.

 

 

 

Gene blinked awake a moment before the phone rang.  He smiled and pushed himself up from the couch.  Outside, it had grown dark again.  He shuffled into the kitchen and answered, voice gruff “Hello, Edward.”

He heard a breath, and then the voice, hesitant “Gene?  You alright?”

Gene smiled softly.  “I’m fine, Edward.  Just woke up.”

“Woke up?”  He could imagine the frown on Edward’s face, the adorable line on his forehead, brows pinched.  “Gene, it’s night time!”

Gene chuckled and leaned against his kitchen wall.  “I know.  Had a healin’ this mornin’ that tired me out.  But I’m alright.”

Edward whistled.  “Musta been a big one to knock you out for that long, huh?”

Gene bowed his head, rubbing at his tired eyes.  “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”  He thought again of the pain and fear coursing through Mrs. Leroux with every beat of her heart, of the panicked pumping of the baby’s own heart.  The squeeze of muscles where there shouldn’t have been, the baby struggling for oxygen.  The eventual relaxation and release.  Calm.  Peace.  “How are you?”

Edward sighed.  “I’m alright.  Just…frustrated.  Things aren’t working properly at the bar right now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  For the last two nights, our customers have been almost non-existent.  Bill and Joe think that guy Sobel—you know, the guy we think is a hunter—they think he’s been discouraging people from comin’ over.”

Gene frowned, and a wave of something—worry, anxiety, anger, concern—swelled up in his belly, to his chest, before ebbing away again.  “How’s he doin’ that?  Haven’t y’all been there for a while?  Don’t you have loyal customers?”

Again, Edward sighed, and Gene could feel his frustration seep through the phone line.  “Yeah, we thought we did.  But they ain’t comin’.  Gene, this Sobel guy has got the Pack spooked.”

Gene growled, low in his throat, and fought to push back his worry.  “Well remember what I told you, Edward.  Be cautious around him.  If he _is_ a hunter, you don’t want to get on his bad side.  And if he’s not…well, then that opens up a lot more questions.”

“Tell me about it.”  Edward huffed.  “I’ll be careful.  You, too.”

Gene smiled softly against the phone.  “Always am.”

 

 

 

Early the next morning, when Gene went out to walk his land, he found a casserole and a plate of cookies sitting on his front porch, with a note attached, saying: _Thank you again, Doc.  –The Leroux family._ Gene smiled softly and carried the food inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Babe huffed out a breath and backed away from the blinds, where he and the others had been watching the bookstore like amateur spies for days now.  “I’m gonna go over there, Bill.”

Bill eyed Babe for a moment before he shrugged.  “Alright.  Just remember—don’t confront the guy, just observe.  See if he says anything about the bar.”

“Sure.”  Babe squared his shoulders and left the bar.  So as not to attract too much attention, he did a quick turn around the block before he ended up in front of the bookstore.  The place was pretty crowded for a bookstore in the early evening.  To be honest, Babe had never realized so many people around these parts read that much.  Or maybe it was the coffee?  Coffee _was_ pretty good.

Babe pushed his way into the bookstore and was immediately impressed, again, by the crowds of people who milled between the bookshelves.  He recognized a lot of them as the bar’s patrons.  He frowned.  What the hell were they all doin’ here?  This was about the time their regulars usually started filtering into the bar for their first beer and a little something to eat.  Babe wove his way through them until he’d done a full circle of the place.  Then he joined the line for the coffee bar, figuring he’d find a seat and scope the place out for a bit, listen in for any hunter talk.

The guy manning the bar—Evans—looked Babe up and down for a moment when he sidled up to the register, then seemed to dismiss him, taking his order efficiently.  Babe paid for the over-priced coffee then made his way to one of the seats near the window, so that the guys across the way could see him, and he’d have a full view of the bookstore plus anyone who came in or out.

A few minutes later, Evans abandoned the bar and ducked into the back room for a moment, before he emerged once more and took up his duties again.  Babe sipped at his coffee.  Most of the shoppers milled around with a book or two tucked under their arms, they chatted with each other about usual things—how are the kids, how’s your ma?—and nothing was out of the ordinary.

Babe glanced back over his shoulder and he could see the blinds slightly parted in the bar’s front room—he could just make out three sets of eyes and he snorted.  If this was what Sobel saw every day, it was no wonder he wasn’t impressed.  The guys weren’t exactly the best at recon.  Still chuckling to himself, Babe turned back and jumped, startled, his knee bumping the table and spilling his coffee.  Sobel sat in the seat across from him, tall and proud, dark eyes raking over Babe, assessing.  “Are they still watching me?”  Sobel asked.

Babe gulped down a breath and fought to get his pounding heart under control.  _Don’t give yourself away.  Stay calm.  He doesn’t know shit._ Babe frowned at him.  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Sobel cocked his head and the corner of his lips twitched, just slightly.  “Don’t you?”  He jutted his chin toward the bar across the street.  “The werewolves.  Are they still watching me?”

Babe’s heart kicked in his chest—Malarkey wasn’t joking about this guy, he managed to be scary as hell without doing much.  “W-werewolves?  What are you talkin’ about, man?  That’s crazy.”

Sobel’s mouth twitched, just slightly, like the answer annoyed him but he fought not to show it.  “You’re not one of them, so why are you here, spying for them?”  Sobel leant forward a fraction and lowered his voice conspiratorially.  “Are you a hopeful, then?  You’re hoping if you’re a good little bitch, they’ll turn you?   Is that what this is?”

Babe straightened, feeling a new thread of anger flow through him.  “Hey, guy.  Who you callin’ a bitch?”

Sobel ignored him and pressed on.  “They’re just dogs, you know?  Filthy animals.  Slaves to their nature.  What kind of man can’t stand tall under a full moon?  They’re beasts.  And the world is better without them.”

Babe’s heart hammered in his chest and he finally felt a real spike of fear.  “You been messin’ with the bar?  Taking our customers away?”

Sobel snorted and waved his hand.  “Didn’t take much.”  He murmured.  He narrowed his eyes.  “But I’m not done with you, yet.  So, who are you?  There’s something about you….”  He frowned and leaned forward across the table, sniffing deeply and Babe recoiled, disgusted.  Sobel’s eyes widened and he pushed back from Babe, almost toppling his chair as he stood.  “Who is it?!”  He demanded.  “Which one of them?”  He looked around the shop frantically, then focused his cold, dark eyes on Babe once more.  “Why didn’t I sense them before now?”

Babe gaped, completely confused.  “Who?”

Sobel snarled, mouth twisting in anger.  “ _The witch!”_ Panicked, Babe pushed himself from his seat and he stumbled back toward the door.  Sobel pursued him and suddenly Babe realized that the shop had grown quiet.  “Their scent is all over you.  So who is it, boy?!”

Before Babe could respond, the door behind him was jerked open and Babe stumbled back into someone.  Then he was shoved backwards and he realized it was Bill, who strode in front of him, blocking him from Sobel’s view.  “Hey buddy, you betta back off from my friend, here.”  He growled.  “Or else.”

Sobel snorted and advanced out into the street, pressing closer.  “Or else?”  He laughed, high-pitched and crazed.  “You think I’m afraid of you and your Pack?  You all are nothing!  _Nothing!_ Just a bunch of mangy animals who’ve been running wild for far too long.” 

Bill shoved Babe back further toward the bar and backed away with him, growling low in his throat.  Sobel continued to advance. 

“But I’m gonna show the world what you really are.  And then I’m gonna clean this neighborhood up.”  Staring down at Bill maliciously, Sobel’s lips quirked and he snapped his fingers. 

Bill groaned, hunching his shoulders in pain, and Babe scrambled back up to his feet, rushing for his friend.  Bill shoved him away, wheezing.  He stood there, bent, panting for a moment, before a horrendous scream ripped from his throat and he fell to all fours, panting, whining.  Babe stood, frozen, as Bill’s clothes started to tear and his friend’s body bent strangely, convulsing.  He screamed again, agonized, as he body started to shift—a thing Babe had never seen before—and he couldn’t have imagined how painful it was, how utterly horrific and incomprehensible.  One moment, Bill lay on the street in front of the bar, the next moment, a large, hairy beast rose shakily to its feet and it snarled at Sobel, then turned red, glaring eyes at Babe.  Babe stumbled back, frightened for the first time of his best friend.  He opened his mouth to say something, but then Joe was pushing past him, and he threw himself atop the wolf, strapped something on its muzzle, and then used all the strength he had to haul it into the bar. 

“See!”  Sobel screamed.  “See what they really are!  Monsters!  Animals!  Filthy dogs!”

Only then did Babe realize that the street was packed full of people—the block erupted into hushed murmurs, then screams, then there was a panic as people pushed past each other to get the hell out of there.  Shaking, panicked, Babe backed up into the bar then slammed the door behind him, locking it.  He spun on his heel just in time to see Joe stab the wolf with a needle.  A moment later, it slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Babe, still shaking, fell back against the door.  He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.  Couldn’t believe that could happen.  “Joe!”  Babe panted.  Around him, he was aware that Julian, Luz, and Malarkey also gathered.  “Joe, what the hell was that?!  What happened!  What did that bastard do to Bill?!”  Then, “Oh, God!  Bill!  Bill!  Is he gonna be okay?  Joe!”

Joe Toye—always unshakeable, so strong—now quivered over the still body of Bill Guarnere, werewolf, and raised his own dark eyes to Babe.  “He forced him to shift.”

Babe heaved in a breath and he realized his hands were still shaking.  “How?!  How in the world could a hunter do that?!”  Babe trembled, took another step toward Bill and Joe.  “How could a hunter do that?”

Joe’s eyes were scared.  “A hunter couldn’t.”  He whispered.  He bowed his head over Bill’s furry body.  “He’s somethin’ else.”

“What are we gonna do about it?”  Luz asked.

“I….”  Joe closed his eyes, and Babe could see that he was still shaking.  Below him, still unconscious, Bill whined.  “I don’t know.  If _this_ is what he’s capable of with a snap… I don’t know.  We can’t afford to get close to the guy.  You saw what happened in the street.” 

Luz laid his hand on Joe’s shoulder.  “We’ll come up with a story.  Figure out a way to smooth it over.  Don’t worry, Joe.  We’ll figure something out.”

Joe shook his head and met Babe’s eyes once more.  “I don’t know what to do, Babe.  We need help.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gene jerked his head toward the phone, wooden spoon falling into the pot as he stepped away from the stove.  It was silent.  But still, Gene could feel a buzzing under his skin, a sort of crawling panic that began in the depths of his being and slowly unfurled outward, until he could feel it tingling in his fingers and toes.  He stared at the phone for another moment, and then it rang.  He picked up half a second later.  “Babe.  What’s wrong?”

“ _Gene,”_ Babe cried, voice breathy, panicked.  “ _Gene, oh God!”_

“What happened?”  Gene demanded, phone gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned white.  “Talk to me.  What happened?  Are you alright?  Are you okay?  Babe!”

“He….”  Babe gulped air for a moment.  “He’s not a hunter, Gene.”

Gene felt cold dread make its way down his spine.  “What happened?”

“He… s-snapped his fingers and forced Bill…he forced him to turn, Gene!  He forced Bill to turn into a wolf, right there in the street!  In front of dozens of people!”  Babe wailed, and Gene’s heart clenched.  He felt a little, glowing ball of rage light up under his sternum.  “He just…forced him to turn into an animal, Gene.  How is that possible?  Bill takes the medicine you made him—he shouldn’t turn like that.  What… what could _do_ something like that?”

Gene grit his teeth so hard he thought they might break, but then he forced himself to take a deep, calming breath, and relax.  His kitchen lights flickered.  “Is Bill okay, now?”

“Yes,” Babe gulped in another deep breath.  “Joe tranquilized him.”

“And you?  Are you okay?”

“I… yes.  The guy—he only spoke to me.”

“What’d he say?  Did he threaten you?”

“No.  He just….”  Babe was quiet for a minute, then said “Huh.  He did…say somethin’ weird, though.  He said he could smell a witch on me.”  Babe hiccupped.  “Was he talkin’ about you, Gene?  How could he sense you like that?”

“Alright,” Gene said, squaring his shoulders.  The kitchen lights flickered again.  “Listen close, Babe, and do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“Okay.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the bar, in the supply room.”

“Alright.  Good.  If you all can stay there, then stay there.  Together is better for now.”  Gene cursed, frustrated not for the first time that he didn’t have a cell phone and couldn’t send a picture. “I’m gonna read you something, Babe.  I want you to write it down, word for word, alright?  Then when you get off the phone with me, I want you to write it on the inside of the bar’s door.  It’ll keep him out.”

“Okay.”  Babe’s voice was still shaky, but he seemed to be following along.

“After you do that, Bill should go back to his human form.  If not, you feed him an extra dose of my medicine and it’ll work.”

“Got it.”  Babe said.

“This man…Sobel.  Do you all have a picture of him?”

“Uh… I dunno.  Maybe one of the guys has a picture on their phone?  Why?”

“Because I’m gonna need one.  Babe, listen… I want you to be careful, alright.  _Do not_ go close to this man.  But find a way to get a picture of him.  Get a friend to do it if you can.  Preferably someone who’s not a wolf.  That’s all I need.  Just one good picture.”

“I don’t understand, Gene.  What do you need the picture for?  What is this guy?”

The kitchen lights flickered again, more alarmingly this time, and Gene forced himself to take another deep, deep breath.  “There’s only one thing that can force a wolf to turn like that, Babe.  And that’s a witch.”

Babe sucked in a breath.  “A witch.”  Gene imagined he could hear Babe’s heart pounding across the telephone line.  “And the picture?”

“I’m getting on the next plane,” Gene decided.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Babe.  Just…stay safe until I get there.”

“The picture, Gene?”

Gene sighed, glancing heavenward, for guidance.  “I need it to bind ‘im.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Babe wandered out of the back room on shaky feet and, sharpie in hand, made his way to the front door of the bar that was still locked.  He scrawled the three lines on the door in…what language was that?  He couldn’t tell.  But the moment the last word was inked into the wood, the air suddenly lightened, Babe could breathe again, and he heard Bill groan—with a _human voice—_ behind him.

Babe turned and found Bill, huddled under a blanket on the ground, sprawled across Joe and Malarkey.  Joe frowned up at Babe.  “How’d you do that?”

Babe turned, still nervous, but feeling a spark of hope in his heart.  He smiled shakily.  “It’s gonna be okay, guys.  I found us the help we need.”

“What?”  Joe asked.  “Who?”

“Gene’s coming.”

Joe frowned.  “Who the fuck is Gene?”

Bill pushed himself up a bit, jaw dropping.  Babe’s lips twitched and Bill turned his head toward Joe, who looked scared in a way he never had before.  Bill swallowed thickly, voice still hoarse from the screams.  “The Doc.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! And feel free to come say hi on tumblr. I'm @realhuntersweaplaid. :)


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